Oh, the stories I can tell:
In my 20s:
During college, my BF and I were staying at his brother’s apartment during Spring Break. I went into the bathroom to take a shower, and I placed my clean clothing on the counter. When I went to put on my jeans, I yanked them off the counter in kind of a sweeping motion, and ended up flinging the Exact-O knife that was on the counter under my jeans blade down straight into my right foot. (BF’s brother was an artist, so I wasn’t shocked at the presence of the knife, just where it ended up.) Cue my very controlled vocalizations/requests for my boyfriend to come upstairs and help me get the knife out…which ended up getting louder and louder because he wasn’t moving fast enough, and I was in too much shock to pull it out myself.
As I was walking out of a supermarket, my left foot slid out and I crashed down, landing squarely on my right knee. On the concrete ramp leading out the building. I was waitressing at the time; needless to say, I had to take a couple days off work because my knee swelled up like a balloon.
In my 30s:
My best friend was over for dinner, and I was opening the wine bottle with the type of opener that you twist into the cork and press the arms down to raise the cork. I didn’t twist down far enough so I was having trouble trying to wiggle the cork out. Somehow I ended up on a small stepstool trying to get traction to pull it out…and ended up jerking the opener up into the bridge of my nose. It made a really nice cut and bruise smack dab in the middle of my eyebrows.
In my 40s:
I finally got a mandoline, and the first time I used it I didn’t bother with the guard, a mistake mandoline owners make ONE time. I tried to hide the evidence (ditched the red-soaked potatoes, hid the bandage wrappers and red-soaked paper towels, tried in vain to keep my right hand out of view, etc.), but DH’s first words to me that evening were, “So, Miss Proud-New-Owner-of-a-Mandoline, why is the bandage tin out?”